


Hard at Work

by who_la_hoop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_wankfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-10
Updated: 2008-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/pseuds/who_la_hoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Harry wants is to be a good Auror – but when his work takes him to Malfoy Manor, and the bedroom of one Draco Malfoy, his dedication to his career reaches a new level entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard at Work

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP_Wankfest, to the prompt 'Harry Potter in Malfoy Manor with a Quill'. Huge hugs to [](http://blamebrampton.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://blamebrampton.livejournal.com/)**blamebrampton**for the beta! &lt;3

The explanation for why Harry Potter is currently curled up in a corner of Draco Malfoy's bedroom, safely concealed by his Invisibility Cloak, is straightforward. The explanation for the unorthodox use to which he is currently putting his quill, less so.

This is one detail about his current assignment that Harry Potter, trainee Auror, will certainly _not_ be writing up in his post-mission report.

###

It had started out simply enough. Task one, he'd completed with ease. Breaking through the wards on the entrance to Malfoy manor had been surprisingly simple, and the Invisibility Cloak made it a cinch to sneak about. Task two – searching for Dark artefacts – had not gone so well. The manor was a maze of unoccupied, unlived in rooms; whole wings filled with furniture covered in drapes, the silence eerie and disturbing.

It had been such a relief when he'd discovered an occupied room that he'd hardly paid attention to the sound of the shower running in the next room, relying on the safety of his Invisibility Cloak to conceal him if an – ugh – naked Mrs Malfoy suddenly emerged.

The emergence of a half-nude, dripping wet Draco had come as such a shock that he'd stood there, frozen to the spot like some kind of nitwit, until it was too late to flee. Malfoy, pushing his sodden hair away from his face with a frown, reached for his wand and locked the door with a graceful flick. There was no way Harry would be able to leave without drawing attention to his presence. He'd just have to wait it out. He sat down in the corner of the room as quietly as he could, tucked the folds of Cloak around him, and prepared to have a thoroughly uncomfortable time.

###

'Please don't take the towel off, Malfoy,' Harry thought – thinking it so hard that he bit his lip, suddenly worried that he'd said it out loud. 'Please, please don't take it off.'

Malfoy unwrapped the towel from around his waist.

Harry nearly dropped the quill and Muggle note-book he was clutching, his trousers growing uncomfortably tight at the crotch.

While Harry had always known Malfoy was attractive, the rational part of him – the part that dismissed him as an irritating, awful ferret-faced idiot – had always overridden that thought. Now, with Malfoy standing naked in front of him, it was more difficult to ignore.

Because Malfoy was _gorgeous_. His skin was pale but flushed from the heat of the shower, his white-blond hair darkened from the water. As he moved, drops of water rolled down his skin and he left wet footprints in the cream carpet.

Watching Malfoy towel himself down was a sight that Harry knew he'd never forget. He'd be wanking over the images for _weeks_, dammit. Months, even, given that he was now the proud owner of a Pensieve.

Malfoy's body was lean and spare and more muscled than Harry had expected, his stomach toned and flat. Harry licked his lips and swallowed as his eyes took in Malfoy's half-erect cock – thick and reddened. Malfoy's eyes fluttered shut as he towelled it dry, and he made an audible swallowing noise before letting the towel drop onto the carpet beside him.

Harry's cock _throbbed_, trapped between his jeans and his thigh. It was highly uncomfortable. That was why he was fumbling with his zip to free it, he told himself. _Not_ for any other reason. It would be unprofessional to wank on the job. More importantly, it would be _all kinds of wrong_ to wank on the job in front of Malfoy – even if Malfoy remained blissfully unaware of his, Harry's, perverted tendencies.

The problem was, once it was out it was out, so to speak. _Leaking_ and _twitching_. Malfoy – the big girl – was now rubbing some form of body lotion over his skin. He started at his feet, moving in smooth strokes up his legs. He spent far too much time moisturising his inner thighs before moving onto his arse, kneading his flesh in small circles. A drop of liquid glistened at the tip of his cock. There was no doubt Malfoy was seriously aroused. His balls were tight and high, and his face was flushed. It was a sight to rival all others. Harry almost came just from watching.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment Harry thought that Malfoy was actually going to have a wank, right in front of him. But luckily for Harry's sanity, Malfoy moved on to moisturising his arms and torso (although Harry had to struggle from groaning out loud when Malfoy rubbed his fingers over his nipples, looking like he was enjoying it far too much).

Then – ohgod, ohgod – Malfoy sat down on his bed and cast a silencing spell on the room, squeezing a generous portion of lotion into the palm of his hand.

Harry dropped his quill. Right onto his cock. It... tickled. When Harry grabbed it before it rolled away the feather caught on his hard-on, sliding over it with a thrilling tingling sensation. Harry almost gasped, but his fear of getting caught with his knob out by Malfoy of all people was enough to keep him quiet.

Malfoy bit his lip and wrapped his hand around his cock, smearing it with lotion. He made a low, groaning noise and arched his back.

It was at this point that Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world, completely lost his mind. At least, what else would you call it when a respectable, professional Auror on an undercover mission forgets himself so far as to put aside all thoughts of Dark magic, and focus solely on not coming all over the inside of his Invisibility Cloak?

Except... except it didn't really _count_, Harry thought deliriously, if you weren't using your hands, did it? And it wasn't as if he really _meant_ to run the feather of his quill down his cock, trailing it over his balls. His hand just slipped. Quite a few times. Well, there wasn't _space_. It was all perfectly understandable, and not at all unprofessional and wrong.

Harry's face was sheened with sweat, his cock jerking under the light touch of the quill, his other hand gripping the pad of paper with grim determination. He would _not_ give in and touch himself. He would _not_ give in and touch himself. The phrase became a sort of mantra, as the twin tortures continued – Malfoy bucking and uttering such debauched moans and noises that Harry wanted to _die_, the quill's stroke arousing and teasing without offering any measure of satisfaction _whatsoever_, fuck it.

Then Malfoy stopped. He stood up and took a few steps in Harry's direction, looking tense.

Harry froze. There was no way Malfoy could see him. Was there? He tried not to panic.

Malfoy moved over to a cabinet, barely missing tripping over Harry's feet, and grabbed a magazine. He was chewing on his lip and breathing heavily.

"Fuck it," he murmured to himself as he flicked through the magazine, evidently looking for something specific. He wrapped a hand around his cock and gasped, the hand that clutched the magazine shaking.

He dropped down to the floor, spreading the magazine in front of him.

He was far too close to Harry. Practically opposite, in fact. He wasn't looking at Harry – didn't even know that he was there (thank fuck).

But... he _was_ looking at Harry. Malfoy's face flushed and screwed up with irritation as he looked down at the photo shoot Harry had done for _Witches Weekly_. Shirt off, face flushed and embarrassed, the photo-Harry looked up at Malfoy and tried to look nonchalant.

"Fuck you," Malfoy gasped at the photos, his hand working frantically up and down, "fuck you". He swallowed hard and slowed down, running a finger over the magazine pages and flipping over to a full-page spread of Harry, looking seriously into the camera before smiling – a slow-blossoming smile – and lowering his eyes.

Harry – the real Harry – felt himself go purple. He'd thought that the photo shoot – which had taken many, many bribes to get him to agree to do it – had been the most excruciating experience of his life. He'd then changed his mind, and thought that _seeing_ the resulting photos in the magazine was far more excruciating. He looked... sweet in the pictures. Shy. _Virginal_. It was _awful_.

But now Harry knew the truth. Nothing, _nothing_ could ever be as excruciating as watching Draco Malfoy wanking over those pictures, just a few feet away, and feeling honour-bound to not do anything about it.

In fact, it was impossible. Nobody could bear it, Harry told himself. Not without going completely insane. It would be _bad_ if he went insane. His friends would be upset.

He put the pad down on the floor beside him carefully, and transferred the quill to his left hand. He ran the feather over the head of his cock – oh god – trailing it through the wetness at the tip, and round. Harry clenched his jaw, clamping his teeth tight together to keep himself from making a noise. He wrapped his right hand round his cock.

_Fuck_ it felt good. Long, hard strokes. Eyes flickering between Malfoy's hand on his cock, and Malfoy's face as he _wanked_ over pictures of _Harry_. The soft teasing of the quill flicking over his balls. The tension of not being able to make a fucking sound. And _Malfoy_. Fucking, fucking _hell_.

"H– H– _Harry_," Malfoy whispered, his face screwing up. His body was visibly trembling. He convulsed – and again – spurts of pale liquid hitting his legs and making damp spots on the magazine.

Harry's hand tightened around his own cock and he came so hard that his vision blurred. The world tightening into a hot, shuddery place. He bit back a cry, clenching every muscle. When he opened his eyes the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak in front of him was stained and wet in places.

Malfoy was panting, come-smeared and red-faced. His mouth twisted as he shut the magazine. A picture of Harry waved up at him from the cover, and a muscle in Malfoy's cheek jumped. He turned the magazine face down and leaned back against the bed behind him, dabbing at himself with the discarded towel.

For a moment his face was so lonely, so bleak, that Harry's insides twisted.

"Fucking Potter," Malfoy muttered, his expression snapping back to its usual hard sneer. He jumped up and dressed quickly, picking up the magazine and chucking it into the overflowing bin before spelling the door unlocked and leaving.

Harry zipped himself up quickly, grabbing the mistreated quill and blank pad. He tried not to notice that the bin was full of copies of the same magazine – crumpled, ripped images of himself waving up at him as he passed.

He stumbled out of the Manor, Apparating home with a crack. He spent the rest of the afternoon wanking. Quill discarded, one hand tight around his cock. Lubed fingers up his arse. On his knees, imagining Malfoy – wanton and begging for it – in front of him.

He came with Malfoy's name on his lips. "Draco". Said soft. The stupid name exhaled like that of a cherished lover.

Rubber-limbed he collapsed on his bed. He smelled of sex and sweat, his cock red and sore.

It wasn't enough.

###

"I have your report, Harry," Kingsley said, frowning down at the scroll.

"Yes, sir?"

"You are correct. It was unlikely that you would be able to investigate the whole house in just one day. Are you sure you're okay with spending the next few days undercover in the manor? I know it must be difficult for you."

Harry tried not to look as eager as he felt. "This is my job, sir. I'm willing to spend as long as it takes there."

"Good man," Kingsley said. "I'm relying on you."

Harry dashed out of the room and to his desk. He was already hard and aching beneath his voluminous robe. But first he had to pick up fresh supplies. He required a quill – for taking notes. And this time, he thought, he'd take some lubrication, in case he chanced upon any doors with squeaky hinges.

After all, it was important to carry out his job with utmost dedication. It was the best job in the world.


End file.
